Thursday, November 6, 2014

murks tribute band (w/ Ayn Rand)

Merde ichthy, yore and clamor, the onesies and twos of binaries and logics, the well and well and well again, man-man-man-man, you ain't having pun with the numb. The fingers itch to react in a crack of stoop and peel; eviscerate before you conjugate. From the here-perch, you're all glubbing and poking goldfish eyes into one another, hexes and V's, triangle 3's, naming unknown gods, pooping down to your knees. And the me-me-me's. It's hardly A. Minus circles round the bends, total hicks one would see, dotted fingernails and pails, no more soap or pen pals, but revolutions and me-volves, all the hoaxes one could muster, all-a-cable festooned bluster and rusted shunt tick luck shuffle shire tiff. Man-maan-maaaan, gotta ones and twosies through-the-hoops, duck and cover from yodels and ownershit totem crows, jowls, owls, and people named Joel. Why would not you not want me to not want to not un-return? Peck era. A squalid peckerish pre-return to gills. Humor? My my. And three more mighs. I'm in a soot orgy, dusted dimpled, November timid grey orange, with a wire hopper above and the stink of Skoda and cloves. The cramps come; he lied to me about ratios and stuff. It's not bad dose, as hee hee would raise a few fourth rate motel eyebrows later. Yet. As one would be taken to taking, the thus and this, the gander hue at your sudden fits, the bahnhoff bumble of disingenuous limbo dunce and ranch dressers akin, I'd best be beasting, rest-feeding, awaiting and baiting and getting ready for the queasy wakes of well, your welcome nothing. Si. C. Eww, in a minute.


eyes used for tooth support

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